


Making Improvements

by augopher



Series: The Things We Make, We Make With Love [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy Derek, Derek likes it when Stiles speaks Polish, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Injury Recovery, Kid Fic, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski Speaks Polish, Stiles sews, Stiles' grandparents are hippies, Stiles' name is NOT Genim, Wedding- Sheriff and Melissa, gender variant character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 01:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augopher/pseuds/augopher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the week leading up to his father's and Melissa's wedding, Stiles struggles with his recovery from a life-threatening case of pneumonia. Though Derek is with him on every step of the way, he is still frustrated. Add that to the stress of helping with planning a wedding; physical therapy; teaching Stephen Polish; and figuring out how he will manage his half of the dance Melissa, Scott and him had been working on, and Stiles's nerves are about shot.</p><p>One word...one little word makes all of it worthwhile</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Call a Do-Over

**Author's Note:**

> There is a bit of Polish used in this installment. I have done my best at the translations, to ensure it doesn't sound off. However, as I am not fluent, please feel free to let me know if I have made errors, and I will fix them. Translations listed in end notes for each chapter
> 
> Please don't post my work Goodreads

Stiles’ left foot tangled with his right, sending him to the floor hard. Again, for the third time that lesson alone. This time, instead of pulling himself up right away, he just sat there, staring at his uncooperative left leg. He didn’t need two left feet, just one.

He glanced up slightly, to see Derek offer him a hand up. Stiles batted away his hand, and pushed himself to stand, defiance and determination painted on his face. “I got it. I got it.” Back in their dance hold, Derek, who had learned Melissa’s part for this dance just so he could practice with Stiles, counted off.

See Stiles always thought the mother/son dance at weddings was for mothers and sons, but Melissa and Scott conspired and decided he needed to be involved in the dance. Stiles protested that his poor dad had no daughters to dance with and he (Stiles) should, therefore, figure out something for them to dance to. John was on-board with this idea, selecting and learning how to polka as a joke. Both men were shot down as Kira volunteered to dance with him. Stiles pretended not to be insulted (Lies. He was horribly insulted; an argument ensued. That polka was going to be epic; it really was. More importantly though, why didn’t he get to dance with _his_ dad?) and somehow found himself learning a much more difficult dance. He had nothing against “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” but the cover Melissa picked, well the song did him no favors. One, it was too fast, and two, syncopated beats were a terrible idea for him. He had enough trouble walking.

He pushed Derek out to spin him. That part was easy, but it was what came after that sent him to the floor more often than not. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. There were seven or eight places in his half of the dance that his feet got tangled and he stumbled, but this move was the worst.

Twice a week, the four of them came down to the local dance studio to work on this dance, and twice a week he made a total ass of himself amongst the other dancers. Even Scott, who by all accounts was pretty lame when it came to dancing, was doing better than he. Before he got sick, they’d had four lessons. Stiles knew the steps, could do them in his sleep, and then--well, let’s just say the ten days in the hospital and ongoing physical therapy didn’t help.

As he braced for the slight impact of curling Derek back in towards his body, his anxiety rose. There was no way with a week left that he would get this. It was just… too soon. Sure enough, when he caught Derek, it was just enough to send him off balance. His left foot shuffled into his right, and that familiar falling feeling overtook him.

This time, he didn’t even sit up. He just lay there on his back, as other people moved around the dance floor. Out of embarrassment, he’d closed his eyes. He knew there were tears hiding behind his eyelids. He was so frustrated with the dance and to be honest, the whole damn wedding, and he wasn’t even the one getting married. He’d been happy to volunteer his artistic talents to help make decorations, but well, if he was being honest, that whole pneumonia debacle left him easily fatigued, horribly so...and impaired.

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “I’m just a mess, Derek. I can’t do it. I can’t do this dance with her. My dad and Scott will look awesome. Hell, they almost look like pros already, and my feet keep getting knotted up, because my stupid left leg is slow and I can barely feel my foot. It’s just tingly at best, painful at worst. I’m just gonna make her look bad.” His voice was thick with emotion.

Derek knelt down next to him. “She won’t care about that, you know.”

“But,” he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes to stop from crying, “Scott’s family, the extended ones, they never warmed up to me. First, I was Scott’s hyper and weird best friend. Then, I was Scott’s hyper, gay best friend.” His voice cracked. “Now, I’ll just be Scott’s hyper, gay, crippled step-brother.”

“Babe, you are not crippled. Your physical therapist said it was going to take time to retrain your lower leg to work properly, time for your brain to repair the nerves, but you will recover.”

Stiles sniffled. “Thanks for trying, Słoneczko. She didn't say I would recover; she said there was a strong possibility I would, but it was too early to tell. I look pathetic.” He sat up and walked to the edge of the studio where observation benches lined the wall. Well, he walked on one leg, the other dragging behind him slightly.

An arm draped around Stiles' shoulders,  Derek rubbed his boyfriend's arm. "I know you're frustrated, but you aren't pathetic. You're strong, and you’re doing great."

"That's sweet, but just because you feel that way, doesn't mean I feel that way about myself.  I love you for thinking so, but I feel pretty damn pathetic. You don't see the looks I get when I climb out of my car anytime I go anywhere. The disgusted looks. 'How dare he park in that space. He's too young, too healthy looking to be disabled.' Then their disgust turns to pity when they see me walk. The thing is, I didn't want that temporary placard in the first place, but fuck, parking even twenty feet farther away makes me exhausted. I can't even get through grocery shopping without needing to switch to the motorized wheelchair cart." He wiped his eyes. "I just want to go for a run. That stupid stationary bike is not as satisfying."

Derek kissed Stiles' temple. “Do you want to finish the lesson?”

“No, let’s just get out of here.”

  


*   *   *   *   *

 

After they arrived home and said goodbye to Erica and Boyd, the three of them curled up on the couch to watch a movie before Stephen went to bed. Tonight’s main event: Despicable Me. Halfway through though, Stephen yawned.

“I’m sleepy. Gonna go to bed.” He sat up from where he’d been snuggling against Derek’s side and stretched his arms. “Good night, Daddy.” He kissed his father on the cheek and crawled across his lap to do the same to Stiles. “Night, Stiles.”

Derek used the opportunity to stretch as well. “I don’t know about you, but I would much rather watch something else and have a beer. You want one?”

Stiles shook his head. “Maybe a glass of whiskey though would be nice.” When he tried to stand and help himself to a drink, Derek stopped him.

“That’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Stiles ran his tongue across his teeth, trying to hold back what he wanted to say, but in the end spoke anyway. “I can get it myself, you know.”

Derek kissed his forehead. “I know you can. I was just offering.” He vacillated between being irritated and understanding, before the latter won out. “You need to get it yourself, don’t you?”

Stiles licked his lips and nodded, unable to meet Derek’s gaze. “Yeah. I’m not helpless.”

“I never thought you were.”

“But I sure feel like it.” He scoffed. “Listen to me, and my pity party. Ugh, fuck.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.

Derek pulled him up off the couch and hugged him, resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “Look, I know that the prognosis is ‘strong possibility,’ but I am choosing to believe that it is every possibility, and not because I loved you better before--well you were happier then, and that was nice to see--but because I believe in you.” He took Stiles' hand and walked into the kitchen, slower than usual to accommodate Stiles’ dragging gait. Derek stopped in front of the liquor cabinet. “There should be some Jameson near the back.” He pulled a glass out of the cabinet. “You want ice?”

Stiles just shook his head. To be honest, balancing mostly on one foot as he rose onto his toes to reach into the back made him nervous, and more than once he needed to steady himself with a vice grip on the counter. Still, he managed to get his fingers around the bottle, pulling it free just as his left knee buckled, startling him. The bottle crashed to the floor, whiskey and glass spraying everywhere. “Son of a bitch!” He dropped his head into his hands as took deep shuddering breaths and tried not to cry.

“It’s okay. It’s just liquor.”

“It’s not about the whiskey, Derek!” He sighed and lifted his head. “Sorry. I am grateful you’re so supportive, because I wouldn’t want to do this without you, but you don’t understand how it feels to suddenly not be able to do things you’ve always done. And,” he let out an irritated laugh, “in the scheme of disabilities, temporary or otherwise, it’s not even that bad.  But it still sucks. You know?”

Derek helped him avoid the glass and led him to the couch. “I am going to clean that up, not that I think you can’t do it, but because you’re upset, and I don’t want you to be. Pick out a movie for us. Would you like a beer instead?”

“Water’s fine.” He already had Jurassic Park started by the time Derek returned and took his seat up against the arm of the couch. Stiles curled into his side and pulled his legs in beside him.

He hated his stupid left leg. He really did.


	2. Can You Teach Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Domik for helping with my Polish errors. :)

Stephen sat at the kitchen table, his brows knit in concentration while he poured over his homework. Pencil held tightly in his fingers, he carefully wrote each letter for every word, copying them five times each like the assignment said to do.

“P-o-i-n-t.” His little tongue stuck out as he finished the letter.

Stiles came into the kitchen rolling a small cart. “Hey, Buddy. How’s the homework coming?”

“Good. S-h-o-u-l-d.” He dragged the pencil down the line to finish the ‘d’. “Just my spelling. I finished it though. I have to do my reading too, but I have to read it out loud. Can I read it to you?”

“Of course.” From the tote on the top of the cart, he pulled out a small sewing machine and plugged it into the wall behind him.

Stephen looked at him funny. “Boys aren’t supposed to sew.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone.”

Stiles laughed and shook his head. “They’re probably the same people that say you’re not supposed to wear dresses.”

"Oh. I guess so." Stephen looked down at his paper. “What are you making?”

From another tote on the bottom of the cart, he pulled out several old t-shirts. “A couple of our grocery bags broke the last time we went shopping. It was time to retire those.”

“You make bags out of t-shirts? How?” Still, he watched Stiles as he cut the sleeves off a Yoda t-shirt.

“Well, just watch. It’s really easy.” He drew a line on the shirt near the neck and cut away the material. Then, he turned it inside out, and sewed the hem shut, finishing off the bottom with two lines of stitches across the corners to square out the bottom of the bag. “Just like that. I could finish the edges by the handles, but I don’t need them to look professional. I just need them to work.

“That’s so...easy. And cool, definitely cool. Can you teach me?”

“But I thought boys didn’t sew.” Stiles sassed back.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice to say. Can you?”

Stiles grinned at the seven year old. “Yeah. But I don’t want you to start on the machine, okay? Maybe we learn to sew on buttons and by hand, then learn to cut the fabric first. It’s good to have a nice place to start.”

Stephen gave him an ‘uh-huh’ as he looked through the bins. “How did you learn?”

“When I was in middle school, there was this class called Home Economics. Boys didn’t take it much because they thought it was for girls.”

“What did they learn instead?”

“Wood shop. You got to build things in that class.”

Stephen smiled. “That sounds fun too. That sounds like a lot of fun. I like building towers with my Legos.”

“I took that class the next year. I just… I like learning all kinds of things.”

“Me too.” Stephen continued asking about the various notions he found in the sewing kit while Stiles finished up his task before deciding to order pizza.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Stiles flipped over the last flashcard from the lesson he’d come up with. “Okay, now what’s this one?”

Stephen looked at the smiling face on the card for a while. “Oh...I know it...it’s-” He bounced in his chair while he thought. “Szczę-śli-wy.”

“Szczęśliwy is right. Can you use it in a sentence?”

Stephen worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Czło-wiek jest szczę-śli-wy.”

“Masz rację. Człowiek jest szczęśliwy.”

“All right!”

Stiles raised his brows at him. “Ah, ah, ah. Po polsku.”

“Dobrze.”

Stiles picked up a children’s book off the table, and switched to English knowing he had not covered enough vocabulary yet to have Stephen understand him. “So I thought I’d try reading this to you. We haven’t learned all of the words yet. Maybe you might figure out what’s going on from the words you do know and the pictures. You can stop me and ask me about any words you don't understand or can't figure out. How does that sound?”

Stephen nodded.

“Good. Why don’t you go change into your pajamas and get ready for bed before we start?” As Stephen bounded up the stairs, he used the opportunity to get some tea. When he returned to the living room, tea secured in mostly spill proof travel mug, just in case, Stephen already sat on the couch and patted the space next to him.

Stiles settled in against the arm of the couch and smiled when Stephen curled into his side underneath his arm. Once they were warm and cozy under the crocheted blanket from the back of the couch, he began.

“Daleko w morzu…”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Derek hung his jacket on the hooks by the door, toeing off his shoes to leave at the doormat next. The faint smell of pizza carried in from the kitchen, and he suddenly didn’t feel so bad that he’d had a night out (Albeit a short one. It was only 08:30) with Boyd and Isaac. If Stiles ordered pizza, then he must be feeling pretty good.

Faint words filtered in from the living room, and he sought them out. However, he stopped by entryway to take in the scene before him. Stiles, lounging in the corner of the couch, had his back to him, but he could see Stephen curled up beside him. Book in hand, Stiles read aloud and seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact his audience had fallen asleep. Either the story or Stiles’ hand in his hair to rub his head, had put him to sleep.

“Ale kiedy napotkamy niegrzeczne lub złe dziecko, wylewamy łzy smutku, i każda łza przedłuża o jeden dzień czas naszej próby!”

When Stiles closed the book, Derek cleared his throat softly. “He’s sleeping.”

Stiles smirked. “How long you been standing there, D?”

“A couple minutes. It was cute. Didn’t want to interrupt.”

“But you didn’t have any idea what I was reading.”

Derek smiled. “Didn’t matter. Did he brush his teeth already?”

“Yeah, did that before we started.” He yawned and stretched out his arms.

Derek crossed the living room where he tapped Stephen on the shoulder. “Hey, Buddy. Time for bed.”

Confused, Stephen looked around, rubbing his eyes. “But, I need to know what happened to Mała Syrenka,” he said, his voice heavy with sleep.

“I’ll read it again to you tomorrow night.”

“Okay, night night.” Too tired for a prolonged good night, Stephen shuffled up the stairs to bed.

Stiles shifted so that his back was flush against the arm of the sofa, patting the space between his legs. Derek obliged him, and cozied up against his chest. Stiles threw the blanket over them both, wrapping his arms over Derek’s shoulders as he turned on the television. “How was dinner?”

Derek kissed the back of his boyfriend’s hand. “Good. You ever been to that Italian place out by the movie theater?”

He sighed. “Luciano’s? Yeah, their lasagna is to die for. Was it just dinner?”

“No, we went and grabbed a couple drinks and played pool over at Gerry’s.”

“Oh man, I haven’t been to Gerry’s in years. Does the place still have that old British phone booth in the corner?”

Derek laughed. “No, they got rid of that a while ago.” He let his head loll back when Stiles ran his hands through his hair, unable to stop the appreciative moan from escaping his throat.

Stiles chuckled. “Such a puppy. If your leg ever starts twitching when I do this, I’m gonna lose it.”

Derek’s chest shook as he laughed. “What did you two do tonight?”

“Well,” he said, taking a sip of his tea, “he worked on his homework, nothing exciting about that. I made some new grocery bags wh-”

Derek looked over his shoulder at him. “You make our reusable shopping bags?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh,” he said sliding down Stiles’ chest and sinking a bit further into the couch cushions, “I didn’t know you sewed. Useful skill.”

Stiles continued his scalp massage. “Has been so far, yeah. Made some stuff in college, sold it on Etsy for extra cash. You know, blankets out of recycled garments and stuff. Second Skin sells clothes by the pound for super cheap. Great for upcycling. Stevie wants me to teach him how to sew.”

“The last thing he asked me to teach him was how to do laundry. I’m feeling a little bummed about it.”

Stiles chuckled. “Relax, I’m just new. He’ll tire of my ‘skills’ eventually, and you can impart onto him your knowledge. Besides, you potty-trained him and taught him to read. I think anything I teach him will pale in comparison.”

Derek reached up and pulled Stiles’ hands from his hair, wrapping his boyfriend’s arms around him tightly. He threaded their fingers together. “How’s his Polish coming?”

“Pretty good. We worked on emotions today. He’s picking things up quickly.” Stiles kissed the top of his head, and if he happened to inhale Derek’s scent at the same time, oh well. “You want to watch something?”

“Not really. This is...this is nice.” He hummed in approval when Stiles began to massage his hand. “What were you reading? I only picked up Syrenka out of what Stevie said.”

Stiles turned off the television and picked up the book from the arm of the sofa, handing it to him.

“Heavy book.” Derek flipped the pages. Each sheet had all edges gilt, and he looked at the beautifully rendered plates. He gathered by what he could see, that these were fairy tales or at the very least folktales. His suspicion was confirmed when he came across the word ‘Syrenka’. “The Little Mermaid?”

“Mmm. Very good, Kochanie.”

“How do you say this word?” He pointed to ‘mała.’

“It’s pronounced ma-wa.”

Derek repeated it a couple of times. “So is this ‘l’ in Polish?”

“No, that’s a separate letter. They still use ‘l.’ _This_ is an ‘ł’.”

“E-oo? Am I saying that right?” He kept looking through the illustrations, letting his fingers trace over each drawing, as though he was feeling for raised ink like he’d find in a very old book.

“Close enough.”

“Did you take lessons, or just learn from your mom?”

“Both my mom and grandparents spoke to me in Polish starting from when I was really little. I don’t actually remember when they started. I mean, of course they spoke English around my dad. He knows like maybe fifty words in Polish. It would have been rude otherwise. I guess, technically, I have two first languages.”

“That was probably a lot easier than trying to learn in middle school. Spanish drove me crazy the first two years.”

Stiles laughed. “I still had to learn one in school. I am miserable at Spanish.”

Derek perused the table of contents. “Which one is your favorite?”

“That would be ‘Słowik.’ That’s um, 'Nightingale'.”

He nodded and handed him the book. “Read it to me.”

Stiles scoffed. “Please, would be nice.”

Derek craned his neck back to stare up at him and give him his best puppy dog stare. “Will you read it to me, please?”

Stiles smiled. “Giant puppy. Do you want me to translate?”

“Nope.” Derek smirked.

“But you won’t under-” An expression of understanding washed over his face. “You find me attractive when I speak Polish, don’t you?”

Derek rolled over so he could kiss him. “Well I find you attractive just about all the time, but yeah. You sound pretty hot.”

Stiles let the book fall to the floor. “You know,” he said against Derek’s mouth, “that is something I’ve never heard before. Usually that compliment is reserved for French or Italian.”

“They’re missing out, let me tell you.”

“Mój kochany, jesteś uroczy. A teraz się zamknij i pocałuj mnie.” He captured Derek’s mouth again, this time in a searing kiss. Stiles wrapped his arms around his waist and grabbed his ass. “Taki fajny tyłek.”

“See,” Derek said, breaking the kiss, “hot as hell.”

Stiles resolved to incorporate Polish in the bedroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish Used in chapter:  
> Szczęśliwy - happy  
> Masz rację. Człowiek jest szczęśliwy- You’re right. The man is happy  
> Po polsku- In Polish  
> Dobrze- All right!  
> Daleko w morzu- Far out in the ocean  
> Ale kiedy napotkamy niegrzeczne lub złe dziecko, wylewamy łzy smutku, i każda łza przedłuża o jeden dzień czas naszej próby- But when we see a naughty or a wicked child, we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial!  
> Kochanie- honey, dear, sweetie, and etc.  
> Mój kochany, jesteś uroczy. A teraz się zamknij i pocałuj mnie- My dear (love), you’re adorable. Now, shut up, and kiss me.  
> Taki fajny tyłek- such a nice ass


	3. Baby Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again (As I mentioned in the updated notes for the last installment), I have changed Stiles' name from Świętomierz to the much more popular Mikołaj with the nickname of Łajek.
> 
> And thanks again to Domik for the help on the Polish

From where he sat on the floor of his physical therapist’s office Wednesday afternoon, Stiles concentrated on the resistance band wrapped around his left foot. The task seemed easy enough. All he had to do was pull his toes toward him and then point them. Unfortunately, he knew this to be folly.

If standing on tiptoe on his left foot was impossible (Being unable to feel most of his foot made balancing on it pretty damn hard), then this was almost as hard. Try as he might--and he tried very hard--he could not flex his toes more than once or twice in a row. Even then, the movement was jerky and quite painful. How did his foot, when numb most of the time, manage to hurt as well? He couldn’t understand. Still, at least he could move the thing. So he had that going for him.

_Concentrate, use the powers of your mind, Stiles. Bring those toes toward you. Mind powers? Ha. It’s your brain’s fault you’re in this mess in the first place. No, that would be contagious germs who are at fault. Those rotten bastards._

He continued the internal argument he waged with himself, focusing on his therapist, Lisa’s instructions. The tone of her voice suggested she was either, unimpressed by his effort, or disheartened at his lack of progress. If she was paying attention to his facial expressions and frustrated breathing, then she’d know he was trying pretty fucking hard, and failing, miserably at that. The set required ten of these flexions.

He completed one.

With a huff, he hung his head, happy as hell that the session was over. He couldn’t deal with it anymore today. They’d even done the electric nerve stimulation before the exercises this time. Fat lot of good that did. He rolled over onto his knees so he could push himself to stand, and luckily did not fall over this time.

“Before you leave today, your insurance okayed your orthotic. It came in this morning. Why don’t you hop up on the table, and I will go get it.”

He complied, sitting atop the padded table, which was very similar to the kind normally in a doctor’s office. His legs swung back and forth like a child’s while he waited. The best he could hope for was that the brace looked more like the kind used for ACL repair and not those horribly obvious white plastic ones with the rigid backs.

There was a kid in elementary school, Neal, who had Cerebral Palsy. Cool kid. Sat next to Stiles for the better part of second grade. He and Stiles would talk about comics non-stop. But the braces he had to wear on his legs were clunky, and in no way inconspicuous. Stiles, of course didn’t care at all that Neal couldn’t do most of the same things physically as he could. Stiles was just jealous the kid was exempt from most of the stupid things they did in gym. The lucky bastard.

Kids though, they were cruel and made fun of him, and there was only so much Stiles could do without resorting to violence, which both his parents would have frowned upon. The point to this whole trip down memory lane apparently served to remind him how much the whole situation sucked. He looked up just as Lisa returned.

“So,” she said holding up the orthotic, which was thank God, black, “this piece you wear on your ankle, like so.” She took off his shoe and fit the brace over his sock, replacing the shoe over the top of it. “This little piece here, laces into the tongue. So, it’s not as visible. This here,” she held up something that looked like on of those sleeves coffee shops slipped over the cups to protect your hands, “is an extra piece that slips over the arch of your foot and the piece clamps into the top so you can wear it without shoes, or with sandals. This should help strengthen your foot and hopefully help retrain it back to a forward position when you walk. Your gait won’t be perfect, but your foot won’t turn inward anymore, nor will it drag as badly. Coupled with your TENS unit at home, hopefully we can get that stubborn peroneal nerve firing again soon. That's the trouble with injuries caused by lack of oxygen. They are hard to predict.”

The smile she gave Stiles was a hopeful one, and one he didn’t believe in.

“It’s good we are trying this early on, because the longer you walk like that, the more stress it will put on knee and hip joints. Replacement at thirty-five probably doesn’t sound like something you want.”

“It’s not.” Stiles stood, and though his foot still felt tingly, the orthotic did lend stability so his leg could support his weight. He’d have to get used to the way each step felt like his foot was asleep, but this he could work with this. Still couldn’t dance with it, but baby steps, and apparently that was the perfect choice of words, because baby steps were exactly what he looked like he was taking.

 

* * * * *

 

The rehearsal went without a hitch, well almost. There was a bit of confusion from the officiant about Stephen’s role in the wedding. Since he was the only small child either John or Melissa knew, he served as both flower boy and ring bearer. Still, the guy did not seem to grasp that concept, which was hilarious, because Stephen performed just fine, pretending to dole out flowers right and left as well as miming the hand off of the rings.

John and Melissa had elected for very small wedding parties, of just one each: both of their sons. It was easier that way and would make for much more intimate and close wedding pictures. Though they both agreed that the head table would include Kira, Derek and Stephen as well. It would be a veritable family affair.

“Your brace seems to be helping,” Derek whispered to Stiles from beside him at the rehearsal dinner.

The low key dinner was nice: pizza, after which there would be bowling. Stiles still cringed at the thought, positive his gait would affect his approach as he bowled (Especially because left foot was the one he planted with), resulting in a fall or two, and a laugh from Scott’s cousins. He looked forward to that oh so much.

Look, they weren’t bad people. Just snarky, past the point of being funny anymore, and none of the three of them ever seemed to grasp when their humor crossed into rudeness. Whatever, he would deal with it. “Yeah, I think so a little.”

He leaned over and kissed Stiles’ jaw. “It’s helped a lot when it comes to the stairs though.”

Stiles conceded that Derek had a point, and went to town on another slice of pizza. “You know,” he said after swallowing a bite, “I don’t know if I should bowl or not. I’m not awesome anyway, and well, I…”

Derek took his hand. “Whatever you think is best, Babe.”

“Plus, I think Melissa wants my help with last minute decorations.”

He had not been lying, and half an hour later he sat at a large table with Kira; Melissa; Melissa’s sister, Miranda; sister-in law, Sophia; and his grandmother as they decoupaged thin lace onto candle holders to make luminaries for the tables. Honestly, why had his dad and Melissa decided that a four month engagement was a good idea? He’d been pretty much making decorations non-stop (Save the time lost for that whole, you know, pneumonia thing) since a week after their engagement. He needed a break almost as much as they did.

"So, Łajek, how is the leg doing?”

He shrugged. “S’okay, I guess.”

Aggie noticed his subtle, but pointed glances at Miranda and Sophia, clearly not looking to discuss it around two women he hardly knew. “A noga? Pokazuje poprawę?”

He gave her a small grin and continued on in Polish. “No, not much. I have an orthotic which corrects the foot position, but it’s uncomfortable, and kind of hurts. Still, it’s better than the alternative. I feel gimpy, and I know there are so many who have it so much worse. So I should just suck it up and get used to it, but, well I imagine anyone who acquires a disability, no matter how small or large it is, could potentially feel like this in the beginning. You know, thinking ‘why me?’ or just feeling sorry for themselves, or something like that. Your quality of life has changed.”

Aggie covered his shaking hand with her own. “I know you, Żabko. If it’s a possibility at all, you will make it work. That’s life, you know? It gives you all kinds of hurdles to test you. You thought nothing would be harder than losing your mom.”

“Babciu, nothing has been.”

“True, perhaps a bad example. That horrible fight in high school, that was the worst up until recently yeah?”

He cringed recalling that incident, the one that would instantly make him flinch when hearing homophobic slurs. “Yeah. Turns out almost dying trumps that I guess.”

“Okay, well now, this injury will not likely be the worst hardship you face.”

He laughed. “I hope nothing is worse than this.”

The gravity written on her face could not be ignored. “Something will be. Someday, you will lose another person you love. Now hopefully, it is when they are old and have lived a full life, not taken in their prime like your mother. But, Łajek, it will happen. It is unavoidable. You must take these, well these curveballs, and deal with them as they come. If you allow yourself to wallow in self-pity about your leg, how can you expect to enjoy life? You got to keep your leg, and that has to count for something.”

He swallowed hard. Mostly, she was exactly right, but not on the last bit. “Honestly, I’d rather I lost the leg.”

She looked taken aback at his words.

“For one: There might be phantom pain every now and then, but each step wouldn’t feel like I was walking with a foot that had been frozen and slowly thawing. Two: There would be no tiny amount of hope to cling to that it would get better, only to find out later, it was for naught. The leg would be gone, it couldn't grow back. Three: I don’t, it just seems that, in the eyes of strangers, this is an infirmity. The amputation is an injury. That sounds stupid. I’m not phrasing that right. Just ignore that one. Lastly though, I’d be able to run. I could get one of those sweet Cheetah Blades, and be able to run like before. Now? Forget it.” He set the finished luminary back in his box. All the ones he’d been given had been completed. He was free from craft duty. “Thanks for the talk, Babciu. See you tomorrow.” He sought out less depressing company, smiling when he saw Derek trying his best to teach Stephen how to bowl. The seat next to his boyfriend was empty, and he gladly sat down beside him.

“You want to join the next game?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, that’s okay. How’s he doing?” He asked, threading his fingers between Derek’s.

“Not bad. The mechanics are still tricky for him, but he seems to do okay with the ‘Granny Bowl’ technique. Whatever, this is like his second time bowling. He’ll get better.” Derek gave Stiles’ hand a little squeeze as if to say, ‘just like you will.’

“Man, I am tired.” He rested his head on Derek’s shoulder.

Derek nodded and looped his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him against his side. “Me too.” He kissed his temple. “I told Stevie one more game, and then we need to head home, because- What time do you and Stevie have to be at the venue tomorrow? And by you, I mean, by proxy me as well?”

Stiles yawned. “Ten.”

Derek patted his knee. “Not as bad as I was thinking. S’my turn.”

Stiles felt pretty content to just sit and watch the festivities, even though he’d much rather be at home in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish used in chapter:  
> I noga? Pokazując poprawę?- And the leg? Showing improvement?  
> Żabko- little frog (or froggie)/ used as term of endearment usually for children


	4. How Do You Say...

Stiles adjusted his dad’s tie. “It’s crooked. How is it crooked? I fixed it like five minutes ago.”

John shrugged. “Nerves. I keep adjusting it.” He chuckled when Stiles quirked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t look at me like that. Just because this isn’t my first rodeo, doesn’t mean I can’t be nervous. You’ll understand this eventually.”

He gave him a soft smile. “I’m sure I will.” He heard the song change to the one they were supposed to walk in to. “Well, there’s our cue.”

Opting not to make things awkward for Melissa’s more conservative side of the family (which he suspected was the real reason the father and son polka got axed), they walked down together, but with no contact. Stiles thought linked arms were just about, the least offensive thing ever. Whatever. Not his wedding. However, John did match his walking speed with his son’s in order to catch him should his weakened leg give out.

They took their places on the altar and watched Stephen begin his procession down the aisle, tossing red and white petals out of his basket. He grinned at Stiles when he saw him, and Stiles couldn’t help the fact his heart melted a little at how happy he looked.

Derek and he, along with Melissa had all gone dress shopping for him, and Stiles had never seen him so happy as when they found the one he currently wore. The red satin bodice contrasted nicely with the cream colored tulle overlay of his skirt. Honestly, Stiles thought the boy was about to cry as they purchased it. He clutched tightly to the garment bag all the way home, as though it was the most precious thing in the world to him. Add on the white flower headband and ballet flats and Stephen looked adorable (Derek, despite what he would have everyone believe, did in fact shed a tear or two stating, 'You look so handsome, Stevie.’)

Stephen stopped in the middle of the aisle to wave at Derek. “Hi, Daddy.” His words drew more than a few ‘Awws’ from the guests. Once he handed Stiles the small pouch from inside his basket which held the rings, he took his place next to him.

Stiles, who had been standing with his hands crossed in front of his body as per the officiant’s instructions, felt a tug on the side of his jacket. “What is it?” He whispered.

Stephen pulled Stiles' right hand free. “Everyone is looking at us.”

“Oh, you’re nervous?” Stephen nodded. “Well, it’s okay. When Scott and Melissa walk down, no one will pay attention to us” Still, Stephen slipped his hand into Stiles’. “Is that better?”

“Yeah. It’s scary up here.”

Stiles gave him a little smile just as the song changed. Melissa looked beautiful in her gown, and the look on his father’s face spoke volumes. He’d only seen the man cry a handful of times. Stiles’ eyes, however, were teary for entirely different reasons.

He loved Melissa; really, he did. She’d become a mother figure for him long ago, even before she and his dad started dating. She made his Dad happy, and he loved her more for that. It was just...watching her take a role in his father’s life that had previously only been his mother’s, it was getting to him. He tried to tamp down the pain, and gave his father his most winning smile despite the tears

Behind his mother’s back Scott gave Stiles a fist bump. Unlike with Stiles, he hadn’t lost a parent. Well, in a way he had, but his dad had just skipped town years ago. He’d only seen him a handful of times since, and not once since his wedding. Hell, he hadn't even expected the man to show up for that.

Stiles caught Derek’s eye from where he sat next to Grandma Aggie. His expression seemed to say that he understood how Stiles was feeling, and to ask if he was alright. He gave him a small smile of reassurance. He wasn’t okay, but he would be.

The longer he stood, the more the ache in his leg grew from slight to a pretty strong cramp. With a subtle movement, he shifted his weight to his right leg, praying the ceremony would finish soon. He just needed to sit down for a few minutes and he’d be fine.

To keep his mind off it, he focused intently to the officiant’s words. In all honesty, he should have been paying attention more. Good thing too, because when he finally came out of his head, his dad and Melissa were already onto their vows.

Melissa dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “John, because of you, I laugh, I smile, I dare to dream again. I look forward with great joy to spending the rest of my life with you, blending our family together, caring for you, nurturing you, being there for you in all life has in store for us, and I vow to be true and faithful for as long as we both shall live.” She gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hand. Then she looked over at Stiles. “And Stiles, I know I will never fill the hole your mother’s death left in your heart, and I don’t want to replace her. I never did. Just know, I love you as if you were my own son.”

Nodding, Stiles swallowed hard and forced a smile. Then, he steeled himself for words that words that would definitely hurt to hear.

“Melissa, I never thought I’d fall in love again, and for the longest time, I was content with being alone. You have helped me finally heal and move forward with my life, and I embrace the future, our future. You’ve made laugh again, and I vow to be true and faithful for as long as we both shall live.”

The officiant asked for the rings, and Stiles passed them over. His head spun though, and he focused on his breathing as he felt his heart rate speed up. As childish as it was to think so, he still felt like he was burying his mother a second time. He needed air and knew he wouldn’t get it anytime soon. _Inhale, 2, 3, 4. Exhale, 2, 3, 4. Repeat as needed. Breathe, Stiles._

The officiant’s voice cut through his thoughts. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

As soon the wedding party exited the venue, Stiles took deep lungfuls of air. With everyone focused on the newlyweds, he saw an opportunity to escape and find a moment to himself. His refuge turned out to be around the corner of the far side of the building, where he sat down on the decorative stone ring surrounding a massive oak tree. Ring- Ha. It was a square. Talk about a misnomer

The simple act of sitting down, brought him a bit of peace. Just getting a break from the pain in his leg had a way of calming him a little. He crossed his leg, resting his ankle on his right knee as he rubbed at his tender calf. Before long,  he felt comforting hands massage his shoulders.

“You okay, Babe?”

Stiles lay his hand over Derek’s. “Not really, but I will be. My leg hurts a lot though. It cramped up on me pretty badly in there.”

Derek sat beside him and pulled his leg across his lap. "Where?"

Stiles pointed to the spot on his calf that ached the worst. "Starts here and then spreads downwards."

Derek moved Stiles' pant leg up to the knee, and his fingers kneaded at the sore muscle. "Do you need to talk about it?"

"About my leg?" He joked. "No, I don't think so." He winced as Derek rubbed at a particularly tender spot. "So, we're taking pictures here. There's a nice grove out back."

“Well, you should get back there then.”

“Nice try. You’re going to be in some of the pictures too.” Stiles slid his leg off Derek’s lap and stood, his balance a little wobbly. “Come on.” Hand in hand, they walked behind the venue to where the rest of the wedding party plus some extra family members were.

John looked over at his son. “You all right, there?”

Stiles gave him a little nod. “My leg was bothering me pretty badly, and I just needed to sit down for a few minutes.” Then, he plastered the expression he liked to call the ‘I’m fine smile’ on his face. He’d perfected it over the years, and his father had never wizened up to it.

“We got the couple pictures taken already and those with Melissa’s family.” The photographer ushered him into a picture with just his father and him.

The way she moved through the required poses with such efficiency was almost clinical, and soon, she motioned for Derek and Kira to come on over. Derek, seemed almost shocked that he was being included in the picture. He’d only expected maybe one with Stephen and him, and then one with all three of them, which yeah, those had been taken too. It just came as a surprise that John and Melissa would want him in the family photo. Stephen, sure. He’d been part of the wedding party after all, but Derek?

“Oh don’t look so surprised, Derek,” Melissa laughed as the photographer maneuvered him into position and snapped the picture

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Stiles stood, palms sweating as he waited for Scott to bow out of the dance so he could take over. He did not in any way want to do this. Making a fool out of himself was not on the agenda for the evening. He dried his hands on his pant legs when he got his cue.

“So, I was thinking,” Melissa said, resting her hand on his shoulder, “that we just scrap that spin and those bits that get you tripped up. Who cares if it messes up the timing?” She watched Stiles visibly relax in front of her.

It wasn’t the prettiest or the most polished dance in the world (Not that he ever considered himself a great dancer to begin with; he’d put effort into this one, though), but he got through it without falling, though he did crash into Melissa twice. When the song ended, he couldn’t get off the dance floor fast enough and made a beeline for the bar.

To his surprise he found Derek already there waiting for him, and the man had even ordered him a drink. Stiles grinned, and then blushed like a Disney Princess when Derek gave up his stool from him. Stiles kissed his cheek as he sat down. “Thanks, Kochanie.” The first sip tasted like ambrosia on his tongue. “What is this?”

“A Manhattan. Don’t ask me what’s in it, because I just basically told the bartender to surprise me with a whiskey cocktail. That’s what I got, and it’s fucking delicious. So I ordered you one.” He placed a protective hand at the small of Stiles’ back. “Do you like it?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Tastes amazing.” He turned his head and gave Derek a soft kiss on the mouth. “Thanks.” Before he could say anything else, he heard gagging noises behind him, and for a moment expected to hear the timbre of Stephen’s voice cut through the noise with his usual response to seeing them kiss. Although, the more Stiles thought about it, the more he realized Stephen had been doing that a lot less lately. He was just about to turn around, when he felt Derek’s hand give firm but gentle pressure on his back. So, not Stephen then. Then, a clap on the back sent him lurching forward a bit.

“I see you’re still as awkward as ever, Stiles.”

He groaned into his glass. “Kyle, Keith, pleasure to see you, as always.” They’d have to be total idiots not to pick up on the heavy sarcasm in his voice. Derek certainly had and shifted so that he stood right up against Stiles. “I see you two are still hell bent on picking on me. Got old about ten years ago guys.” He gave them the stink-eye before taking another drink.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You know we’re just joking right?”

He nodded. “I’m well aware, thank you. You still come off sounding like a couple of assholes though.”

“Someone sure is in a snarky mood.” Keith joked.

“Well, I wasn’t. The gagging noises were an especially nice touch. I mean, they’re cute coming from his,” he pointed to Derek, “seven-year old.  I mean, you two are twenty-eight years old. By now, surely you’ve figured out how not to be a total jerk when you make jokes. I get it; you think my being gay is hilarious. You two and Damien are the only ones though who do. I certainly don't find my sexual orientation amusing.” He slid off his stool, and drink in one hand, took Derek’s hand so they could walk away.

“What did you do sprain your ankle practicing those sweet dance moves?” Kyle couldn’t contain the chuckle.

Stiles didn’t say a word in response, only dropped Derek’s hand so he could give them the finger over his shoulder as he and Derek walked away.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

On the edge of the dance floor, as the song changed over, Stephen walked up and stopped at Aggie’s table “Przepraszam. Zatańczymy, Babciu Agnieszka?” He gave her a little bow.

She smiled at him. “Czy umiesz już mówić po polsku?, Stephen?”

He stared at her, mouth hanging open in confusion for quite a while. “Um...I don’t know that one, yet.”

“I see,” she said giving him her hand so they could walk onto the dance floor, “are you learning Polish now?”

“Uh huh. Stiles is teaching me. Easy stuff right now, but I asked him how to ask you to dance.”

She copied his silly dance moves to the best of her abilities, because, well, dancing like a child every once in a while could be quite cathartic. “That’s very nice of him.”

“Yeah. He’s very nice. Did you know he was real sick last month?”

“I do. We could not come see him, because airplane rides are very expensive sometimes.”

“Oh. Daddy was real, real scared when we were driving to the hospital. The doctors said I couldn’t go in and see Stiles. Now, he’s sad about his leg.”

“Well sometimes, injuries can be scary.”

He nodded. “I know. It was scary when I broke my arm, but I got a pink cast, and then Stiles painted it, and it was so cool. This is different. He tries to do things he did before, and when he can’t he gets… what’s that word that means when you get upset because you can’t do something no matter how hard you try?”

“Frustrated.”

“Yeah. He gets frustrated, and then he’s sad. I want to say something to him in Polish that will make him feel better, but I don’t know how to say it.” Since he was too short to spin her the way he’d seen the grown ups dance, he laughed when she spun him instead.

“What did you want to say?”

“It’s a secret,” he said beckoning her down to his height. “How do you say-” He whispered in her ear, and eagerly awaited a response.

Smiling, she obliged him and whispered back, little tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she watched him practice the words.

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

The slower beat of the next song, piqued his interest, and Derek stood up from the table Stiles and he had been sharing with Scott, Kira, and a couple deputies from the station. He held out his hand.

“Where are we going?”

“I want to dance with my boyfriend at least once tonight.”

Stiles tried to pull him back. “But...I look so stupid and clumsy dancing right now.”

Derek tugged on Stiles hand to pull him towards his body. He placed a soft kiss on his jaw. “Well, I think you look amazing. Way better than the Goodwill suit. Come on.”

“But I’ll probably fall.”

“No, you won’t.” Derek led him to the dance floor where he held Stiles tightly against him, much closer than was efficient for dancing. It didn’t bother him any. In truth, he liked having him this close. He could feel the heat of Stiles’ body even through their layers of clothes, could smell his cologne on his skin. It was nice.

When he stumbled a little, Stiles tried to break free and go sit out of embarrassment. “I’m just making you look bad.”

Derek kissed his forehead and then cupped his chin so he could look into his eyes. “No, you’re not, and even if you were, I wouldn’t care. Okay? I just want to dance with you.”

“You promise you won’t let me fall?”

“Of course. I’d never let you fall.”

Stiles started to smile, but then feigned irritation. “Hey! What about all those times in practice?”

A cheeky smirk spread across Derek’s face. “To be fair, in practice, you were leading.”

He gave Derek’s chest a playful shove. “Jerk.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Stiles kissed his forehead. “Yeah, I do.”

 

*   *   *   *   *

 

Upstairs from the ballroom, in the hotel where the reception had been held, Stiles slid the key-card into the lock to their suite. When the green light signaled it was unlocked, he held the door open so Derek could carry a very tired, but still awake Stephen into his room.

While Derek struggled to help his son out of his clothes, Stiles dug through Stephen’s little purple suitcase for pajamas. “Hey, Buddy, I know you’re tired, but you don’t want to sleep in your tights and dress do you?”

Stephen rubbed his eyes and yawned. “No.” He took the proffered nightgown from Stiles and slipped it over his head before crawling under the covers.

“Do you want a story? Stiles packed a couple of books in your suitcase.”

“No, that’s okay.” He lifted the blanket; he appeared to be looking for something.

“Whatcha looking for?”

“Wilson. I thought I put him on the bed.”

Stiles walked around the room looking for the AWOL teddy bear, finding him on the floor on the other side of the bed. “Here you go.”

Derek kissed Stephen’s forehead. “Night, Stevie. Love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.” He sat up and hugged him, then rolled to the other edge of the bed where Stiles sat. He couldn’t forget to tell him what he’d asked Aggie about earlier. With just as much fervor as he gave his father, he hugged Stiles too. “Kocham Cię, Tatuś.”

Before he could fall apart, he returned the sentiment. “Też cię kocham.”

Stephen looked at Stiles when he let go of the hug. Why was he crying? He wanted to make him feel better not worse. “Jesteś smutny?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nie, szczęśliwy.” He ruffled Stephen’s hair and left the room before he started to bawl.

Derek found him sitting on the edge of the bed in their room a few moments later. “Are you okay? I, I don’t know what he said. I can talk to him abo-”

“No,” Stiles smiled, “these are good tears, D.” He choked back a little sob. “He called me Dad.” Stiles laughed. “I just didn’t think hearing it would make me cry.”

Derek crawled behind him on the bed and wrapped his arms around him. “That’s what tatuś means? Dad.”

“It’s daddy, but yeah. I didn’t teach him that. He had to have looked it up or asked my grandma.”

Derek rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “It’s cute.”

“It felt really good to hear.” Stiles took a deep breath. “I never answered your question, from before. I only said I would be fine if he wanted to call me it.”

“What question?”

“If you ever ask me if I want to adopt him, I’m gonna say yes.” He turned in Derek’s embrace so he could face him. “I’m gonna say yes. Nothing has ever felt as right in my life as the two of you.” He and Derek had a brief staring contest, neither one of them wanting to break the moment with something as pointless as words, each content to remain in the other’s clutches.

Thousands of thoughts raced through Derek’s mind at the moment, but one stuck out, clear as crystal: It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. Kids were supposed to give pushback on people their parents dated, not welcome them with open arms and even more open hearts.

It wasn’t supposed to be this easy, and yet for them it seemed to be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Polish used in this chapter:
> 
> Kochanie- Dear/Sweetie  
> Przepraszam. Zatańczymy, Babciu Agnieszka- Excuse me. Shall we dance, Grandma Agnieszka?  
> Czy umiesz już mówić po polsku?- Do you speak Polish now?  
> Kocham Cię, Tatuś- I love you, Daddy  
> Też cię kocham- Love you too  
> Jesteś smutny? - Are you sad  
> Nie, szczęśliwy,- No, happy

**Author's Note:**

> If you want, come visit me on tumblr. captaintinymite.tumblr.com


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